


the light behind your eyes

by demi_god



Series: oneshots [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Zombie Apocalypse, Angst, Established Relationship, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Original Character(s), Soft Theo, Suicide, a work of his at least, lol uncle shakespeare's here, maybe OOC but it's amidst an apocalypse so, mentions of character deaths
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-01
Updated: 2020-10-01
Packaged: 2021-03-08 02:28:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,115
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26748076
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/demi_god/pseuds/demi_god
Summary: If they were still able to think and given a choice, they'd beg for a bullet between their eyes. It was kinder.
Relationships: Theo Raeken/Stiles Stilinski
Series: oneshots [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2032120
Comments: 4
Kudos: 20
Collections: Steo Spooktober





	the light behind your eyes

**Author's Note:**

> Written for SteoSpooktober 2020 for the prompt: Zombie Apocalypse.
> 
> I haven't written in forever, so if this sucked, I apologize sincerely. Not beta'd so all mistakes are mine.

**_i. one day, I'll lose this fight_ **

  
  


It happened so fast. One second, Stiles was running. Next, Stiles was pinned to the ground by one of the infected. It - _she_ , his mind supplied - growled and writhed above him. These people were far gone, but they were still human. Stiles inwardly thought that if he were to be infected, he wouldn't appreciate the pronoun, too.

He shoved the baseball bat to block her just in time. She struggled to burrow her bloody, grimy teeth onto the metal as Stiles strained to push her off. Blood and spit ooze from the infected woman's mouth down to Stiles's chest and neck. He felt maggots wriggling in his soaked clothes. He was also aware that some parts of him were touching her wounds that were starting to decay and pull apart. _My god, bones, those were bones._ Oh, and the horrendous smell. If Stiles dove into a septic tank, he figured her odor would be similar if not worse.

_It's okay, it's fine_ , he convinced himself. As long as the woman's bodily fluids were not touching open wounds (he didn't have one at the moment, thank god) or getting into his facial orifices, he would be fine. He just wished help would peek from the corner, though, because he was seriously beginning to waver. He had been exhausted from all the running, and dodging, and flinging, and rolling, and jumping. He wouldn't be able to hold her off for much longer. She was already getting suspicious of chowing the bat and not tearing off any flesh.

Where was Scott, or Malia? Theo? _Anybody_?

They separated early on the chase, but Stiles was sure they couldn't be far from where he was. Fuck, they hadn't been eaten, had they?

The infected began bleeding from trying to break metal, and more blood doused his jacket through his shirt. The infected blood hadn't splattered to his face yet, but with the rate of the bleeding, it would be any time soon. The maggots were also starting to crawl through his neck to his face, and he snapped his mouth shut. Fuck, he hoped he could cover his nose and ears, too.

She grew impatient and let go of her hold on the bat to claw at Stiles's face. With great effort, he shoved the bat further away and turned his head to the side so she wouldn't reach the skin. She immediately gave up trying to scratch his face, then turned her attention to his covered-up arms. 

This time, he wasn't quick enough to pull away. The infected grabbed one of his elbows and sunk teeth on his clothed forearm. He only had a split-second worth of panic because he can feel the teeth trying to cut through his jacket.

He sprung to action then. He heaved his upper body up and pushed. It disturbed the infected enough to detach the bite, but the woman swiftly latched onto him again, and it started to sting. He planted his feet on the ground and used his stomach and thigh muscles to force them to flip. The second she was down, he swung his bat as hard as he could. He heard bones cracking under the assault. He struck again, and the infected slackened. He used the time to scramble to his feet toward the direction where the gun - his father's Glock - fell from his hold when she attacked.

As soon as he had the gun in his hands, he whipped around and squeezed. The infected had just managed to get up only to drop back down with a loud thud. Blood started pooling around her head from where he shot her. Seven months of doing this, plus the few bonding moments he and his dad spent in the firing range, made him a good enough shot with deadly accuracy.

Weirdly, though he thought them human still, he'd stopped feeling remorseful when putting them down. It was kinder, he figured. If they were still able to think and given a choice, they'd beg for a bullet between their eyes. It was kinder.

"Stiles!"

He turned toward the familiar voice and couldn't help the breath of relief that escaped him when he saw all of his friends running to him - alive and well. In need of rough scrubbing - so did he - but undead. 

When Theo reached him, Stiles was instantly pulled into his warmth and melted in his chest, the adrenaline draining away from his body. _Fuck_. They'd been attacked and chased before, but this was Stiles's closest call.

Theo clung to him, his embrace tight and starting to suffocate, but Stiles let him. He buried his face in his neck and hugged him as tightly as he could, too, with one arm. His other hand was still holding the gun at his side. Scott and Malia hugged him as well, with Theo still wrapped around him. They didn't look injured, but Stiles made sure to pull at Theo's scarf, so the blood on his shirt didn't touch him. Stiles could hear radios beeping and other people talking distantly. An engine was also rumbling, indicating a working vehicle was close by. Stiles had lost Roscoe, his Jeep, a few months back, and just days ago, Theo's truck. It was nice to hear an active engine again. 

He furrowed his eyebrows, looking at Scott when he heard shots fired. Theo was still busy breathing him in. He must have been out of his mind with worry. He thought he'd lost Stiles.

Before Scott could reply, though, Theo lifted his head and took Stiles's face in his hands, and checked for blood (or maybe just drinking him in, really) and kissed him. Stiles obliged and opened his mouth for Theo. At this point in their lives, it had stopped mattering that there was a dead zombie a few feet away and their friends watching nearby as they kissed. They would kiss, tongue and all, if they wanted to. Fuck the world, and whatever virus started this disease. Stiles was lucky he still had someone to kiss when others had lost the privilege.

They broke apart, and Theo pressed their foreheads together, his eyes closed. There were tear-streaks in his sullied face. He was beautiful.

Stiles could feel Theo’s breath and taste his fear. The relief was cascading quietly from his eyes. It was regret in his voice. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry." He murmured, his fingers treading into Stiles's hair. Fuck, he needed a haircut. So did Theo. All four of them. "I should've come sooner. I shouldn't have let you out of my sight. I should've-"

"Hey, _stop_." Stiles caressed his face and wiped his tears with his thumb. Stiles glanced behind Theo; Scott and Malia were walking toward a uniformed man with a rifle. He looked back at Theo, who had opened his eyes, watching him intently, as if Stiles was going to vanish if he blinked. His eyes were so blue and bright; even his tears didn't dull them. "Nothing's your fault, okay? Neither of us could've done anything."

"I promised your dad-"

Stiles hushed him with a kiss. When he pulled back, Stiles kissed each of his eyebrows and then the tip of his nose. Theo's eyes closed again at the soft kisses and murmurs. Stiles could feel the tension in Theo’s shoulders ebbing slowly. "I'm right here," he whispered finally.

The uniformed man approached and introduced himself as Mike, no fancy titles. He wasn't a soldier, but at this point, who was checking credentials, right? Everyone who was still alive pass day 200 of the world going down to shit were fucking veterans of the end of the world. They were all survivors.

Mike escorted the four of them back to their truck and offered them some clean cloth to wipe with and disinfectant. He didn't try to hide his scrutiny of their condition, and seeing as only their neck and faces were bared but showed no evidence of wound, Mike relaxed. 

They had circled the perimeter and disposed of the remaining infected. Mike and his team were the people sent out in response to Stiles's distress call five days ago when Theo's truck and their radio died on them. Luckily, Mike's people received the message and quickly formed a rescue group, but it was a while before they located Stiles and his friends. They had a camp just a few miles away from _The Wall_ \- Stiles and his friends' destination. 

_The Wall_ , as was dubbed, was a circle of fortified fences built to keep the infected out and the survivors inside. It had spread to the living humans that doctors and scientists inside _The Wall_ were trying to study the virus and concoct a cure or at least a preventive vaccine. Emphasis on _trying_ because Mike had regrettably informed them that no tests had yielded positive reports yet. But the operation continued.

Seriously, it was like Stiles had entered an apocalyptic book by mistake. Everything was cliched. 

But cliches had never been this dangerous. They'd been running for their lives for seven months, lost several people along the way, trying to get to the safest place in America at the moment. And they were very close now. There were twenty people when they started running. Now it was only the four of them closing in on the finish line.

Mike noticed his soaked-through clothing and gave Stiles a clean change. Mike promised a shower when they got to the headquarters. Stiles ducked to an alley for privacy and left his soiled and tattered clothes behind. He swallowed the lump as he pulled the sleeves to cover both his wrists, and then zipped up. Stiles could still feel the ghost of squirming maggots in his skin but pushed down the bile rising in his throat. He returned to his waiting company, and they got loaded into the truck headed to the camp for the night. Mike would escort them to _The Wall_ tomorrow morning.

Their finish line was just a horizon away, and Stiles just had to be bitten now, didn't he?

  
  
  
**_ii. I'll fail and lose this fight_ **

  
  


They reached camp a little over five hours later. Their _'camp'_ was a gated abandoned industrial building miles away from the main road. It wasn't a big factory, but it housed thirty people just fine. More of Mike's people had scattered all over the gate margins, alert and ready to fire at anything remotely suspicious. 

The four took turns in the shower, and it was heavenly. It had been days since they were able to find a bathroom still with running water. Stiles scrubbed at his skin until he was raw, but no matter if he peeled himself off, the bite would nonetheless exist.

He stared at his arm. The others hadn't noticed it because the sleeve hid it well. But it was still there. It hadn't been a nightmare. After seven months, he had come to his final chase.

He had never been under the illusion that he was invincible. None of them were. He had lost too many friends - lost his _dad_ \- to ever think that. He had often thought about getting bitten and what he would do when it happened. Stiles had mapped it out in his head flawlessly - he would take his dad's gun, walk away from his friends, and pull the trigger on himself.

But now, he couldn't do it.

He wasn't scared of dying. He was terrified of leaving people behind - leaving _Theo_ behind. He was all Theo thought he had. And now he was going to lose Stiles, too.

If the people lounging in the kitchenette by the shower areas heard his loud sobbings, they didn't let on.

***

Later, Stiles and Theo laid in a narrow bed in one of the smaller sleeping quarters, listening to each other breathing. Scott and Malia volunteered to stay up for guard duty with some of the other HQ people after a brief nap. They were in their private bubble that Stiles only realized he missed so much. He wanted to make it count. It had been a while since they were able to be alone without staying half-awake most of the time and fearing for their lives with the other half.

It would be their last night, too. 

The last time, Stiles marveled, was more foreboding when you knew it would be the last one. But it was the preferable way to say goodbye than not have the chance at all.

Stiles rested his head on Theo's chest. It was nice, just listening to his heartbeat. He smelled fresh, too, and comfortable. Theo was tracing small circles on his shoulder, smiling at the ceiling. 

"We made it, babe." He whispered, the excitement coloring in his voice. Stiles twisted his head up to peer at his face. Theo was already grinning down at him. He looked so handsome it made Stiles's chest hurt. He was so happy that Stiles hated himself more. Theo was finally allowing himself to be less guarded with his feelings, and Stiles was going to ruin it again. 

He didn't know he was crying until Theo ran his thumb on his face, eyebrows drew together in worry. "Hey, what's wrong?" His voice was so tender Stiles wanted to surround himself with it. He never wanted for the morning to come.

Stiles sniffled and forced a watery smile, "I'm just happy." That wasn't completely a lie.

Theo's face lit up, and his eyes were so bright. He bent to kiss Stiles's forehead. "Me too," he moved his body to lie on his side and settled his other arm around Stiles to fully embrace him. His eyes were dancing in the beams of the moonlight that he almost looked ethereal to Stiles. "When we reach _The Wall_ , I'm going to march to the science labs and volunteer my ass to help them mix the vaccine. I've been thinking about it, and I want to help. I know I have a reputation for wrecking my own life, but not anymore. I promised your dad I'd take care of you, and I promise I wouldn't fuck up this do-over. I was the last person your dad would approve for you, but he did. And I'm going to prove to myself and everyone that I'm worth more than two shits. You're going to be my muse all the way."

"But what if you fall out of love for me or we lose each other?" Stiles meant it to sound teasing, but his throat was so closed up it came out choked.

Theo shook his head, his gaze penetrating straight into Stiles's soul. " _Love is not love, which alters when it alteration finds_ ," Theo began quoting, watching him expectantly.

Despite the knife to his heart, the side of Stiles's mouth quirked up, " _Or bends with the remover to remove_ ,"

" _Oh, no! It is an ever-fixed mark_ ,"

" _That looks on tempests and is never shaken._ " Stiles finished. "I thought you didn't like Shakespeare?"

"No," he agreed with a cheeky grin. "But that was before I understood what he meant when he wrote that. I hate him less now."

Stiles chuckled affectionately and leaned forward to press their mouths together. His bite wound in the arm, hidden again in the sleeve of Stiles's clothes, was faintly throbbing, _a clock ticking_. He didn't want to think about it on their final night. They only had a few hours, and Stiles needed to say goodbye. 

_Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,_

_But bears it out even to edge of doom;_

***

Stiles awoke a couple of hours later to a knock on the door. He carefully got up the bed and picked his discarded pants on the floor. Stiles glanced at his boyfriend, sleeping contentedly for the first time in seven months. He had aged faster than was supposed to. But he was still as beautiful as the day he came to Stiles's life. The town's bad boy, with an ill reputation; everyone had warned Stiles to stay away. He tried, kept Theo at bay, and declined him again and again, but you can only say no to something you _do_ want enough times before giving in.

Stiles made sure that Theo was covered and decent before walking to the door. He picked up the empty lube packets strewn on the floor that they missed when they cleaned up earlier. Theo had complained because he wanted to take Stiles's shirt off but relented when Stiles ditched his sweatpants and boxers instead. It felt good. Then again, sex with Theo always felt pleasurable. But it had hurt, too, in more ways than one.

Stiles opened the door and found Mike on the other side. The man looked uncertain. "Can I speak with you?"

He nodded warily but followed Mike down the stairs to a secluded hall and into a shabby office. It was small but loaded with rifles and ammunition. There were also maps and blueprints spread on a table. Mike didn't invite Stiles to sit. As soon as he had closed the door behind him, he turned to Stiles and heaved a long, exhausted sigh.

"We're leaving for _The Wall_ in two hours," he started, face pinched in a frown. He was struggling to say something. "You know you can't come with us, right?"

Stiles's stomach coiled at the implication. Stiles was silent for a long time. Then he breathed, scared and trapped, "You knew?"

Mike bowed, face sullen, and mouth set to a thin line. "I saw the blood on your sleeve. You also flinched when your boyfriend accidentally brushed against your arm in the truck,"

Stiles nodded absently, looking down at his hands. His fingers began trembling, and his vision was starting to blur with tears. With all the horrors he had to live through for months, he thought the panic attacks were mundane now. But the crippling terror and asphyxiation were overwhelming him. He _couldn't_ \- his lungs might have collapsed on him prematurely.

Mike noticed his alarm. "Sti-"

He interrupted whatever Mike was going to say. His mind was screaming that he couldn't die yet. Not here in this dingy office. Not when Theo was still in danger outside of _The Wall_ . "I know what has to happen. But I'm _begging_ you," he choked on his words, lips quivering to hold off an impending cry. "Let me do it myself. I swear to you, I'll do it."

Mike's mouth contorted in a pained grimace. 

"Please," Stiles persisted desperately. "Let me do it. Just give me until the morning,"

Mike looked away, biting his lower lip. Thank god they weren't soldiers, or Stiles was sure he'd have shot him the moment he suspected about Stiles's bite. But Mike was sympathetic, more compassionate than an actual, trained soldier, and Stiles would plead for Mike's mercy - would kiss his feet if need be. Stiles was only asking for more time. 

Stiles stepped forward and, without hesitation, sank to the floor kneeling. Mike was stunned for a moment, but then yanked him up indignantly, "Stop that kid, I'm not a god. You have no business stooping in front of me,"

Stiles clung to his arms, knew his face was wet with tears and snot, but god, he really was going to die, wasn't he? Mike had isolated him from Theo and his friends to kill him. That was it for him. He assumed he had resigned himself to the fate of death, but now that it was staring him in the face, all he could see was Theo.

Theo's dirty, beautiful face. His bright eyes and his big smile. Stiles was going to destroy that. But he had to make sure - Stiles, _at least_ , had to make sure Theo would have his second chance. Theo wouldn't go without Stiles. So Stiles couldn't die here yet.

"Please, just until the morning," Stiles moaned pitifully. "I've seen my other friends die - my dad. I'm not dangerous yet. I know how long it takes for the disease to take over. I've calculated, and I know I have just enough to see them walk inside _The Wall_ . _Please_ ," 

"Hey, hey," Mike guided Stiles to a seat as he strived to calm him down. He allowed Stiles a minute to break down and gather himself until he could breathe properly again. 

"I just," Stiles whispered later, his eyes red-rimmed and desolate. "I need to see them safe and inside _The Wall_. We've come so far, and if they don't see me - if Theo doesn't see me with them, he won't go. He has dreams now, plans when he's inside. If Theo learns about the bite, those dreams will not matter. He will throw them out of the metaphorical window. No matter how I implored or screamed at him to go, he'd stay and watch me turn. I can't do that to him. It is the least I can do."

It was quiet for another period. Mike was studying Stiles, studying the bite on his arm. It was starting to turn violet. When it became a giant, purple bruise, the disease would eat away at his brain. Then, he'd be infectious. Stiles drew the sleeve down.

"Okay," Mike said later. "Until the morning."

_If this be error and upon me proved,_

_I never writ, nor no man ever loved._

  
  
  
  


**_iii. I failed and lost this fight_ **

  
  


_Find that cure for me, okay, babe?_

_I love you._

_Your muse_

  
  


Stiles had left the note in Theo's pocket. He separated himself from Theo and his friends convincingly when they arrived at _The Wall_ . _The Wall_ \- it was a fortress for the survivors. Stiles smiled at the thought that Theo, Scott, and Malia could start over again. 

They were familiar with loss. Hopefully, even if these people he loved so much grieved for Stiles, they would wake up one day and move on. They had all done it with their friends and parents in the past. Moving on was by no means forgetting and unloving. It was just another survival technique.

"I want the last thing I see to be the place that will keep the people I love safe," Stiles had told Mike. So, now he was standing in front of the automatic metal gate on the dead side of _The Wall_. Stiles was clutching his father's Glock, watching as the gate began to close on him. He had asked Mike to collect his body afterward and dispose of it as was necessary. 

He was afraid, not of dying, but of leaving them behind. After all, he knew what it was like to lose people he loved and be left to mourn them. They all do. So they would understand why Stiles had to do it. Theo would understand, Scott would make sure of that. No matter what Theo believed, Scott and Malia also got his back. 

He could feel the disease beginning to clog his mind. The wound on his arm had turned an angry shade of violet, and the veins under his skin were doing the same - _spreading, contaminating._ Stiles's heart was palpitating, and his throat was starting to close up, blocking the airway. His vision was blurring, but maybe that was his tears, too. The poison was crawling all over his body, and he knew, in less than a minute, he'd be gone. 

He lifted the hand that was holding the gun and pointed it to his head. Suicide was not a sin nowadays; it was a heroic feat. But really, it was the lesser of two evils. The gate was almost closed, so he did the same with his eyes.

It would probably only hurt for a second and then nothing.

" _Stiles, no!_ "

Stiles gasped, and his eyes flew open. Theo was running toward the closing gate. He found the note earlier than anticipated. Scott and Malia were right behind him. Stiles didn't want them to see what he was about to do. 

_It hurts already._

The soldiers guarding the entrance quickly intercepted them. Theo was twisting, and screaming, and crying - everything his Theo would never have done. He never cried. Theo maybe teared up once or twice before, but never got to this point of hysteria. Stiles was already breaking him, and he wasn't even dead yet.

_Fuck, it really hurts._

He forced his eyes shut again because it was getting foggier in his head fast. _But Theo was safe inside_ The Wall _now._ He would move on. Theo would survive this one more loss because that was how it should be. Theo was tenacious and he should remember that.

_I'm sorry._

He squeezed the trigger.

***also on **[Tumblr](https://voidstilesplease.tumblr.com/post/630777088019955712/the-light-behind-your-eyes)**

**Author's Note:**

> Title is from MCR's The Light Behind Your Eyes
> 
> Thanks for reading :)


End file.
